Why Dean Didn't Need Zeppelin IV
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: Dean Winchester. Jo Harvelle. A bottle of whiskey. For everyone who has ever wanted to see a first time that wasn't completely perfect...but still worked out.


**A/N:** You'll either love or completely hate this. My muse demanded I write this scenario and my fingers were kind of along for the ride.

I had conversations with several of my girlfriends (and my best _guy_friend) as I was plotting it out and we all kind of agreed on one thing: Sex is funny, but drunken sex? That's hysterical. Because there are too many perfect first time fics - whether Dean is with Jo or someone else - I give you a not so perfect, but still sexy, romp.

Lots and lots of thanks to **stephaniew **and **ceeray3** - Steph for being in my corner to start with and for helping me wrap things up...Cyndi for giggling with me and keeping me company as I wrote this while waiting for the birth of my niece. I'd be lost without these two ladies...they rock.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural._

Why Dean Didn't Need Zeppelin IV

_Jo Harvelle couldn't tell you how she ended up in this position. Well, that's not _entirely_ true. She _definitely_ knew how she ended up on the floor, half dressed with Dean Winchester hovering over her. She just couldn't tell you what possessed her to take that first drink..._

* * *

><p>Jo's head spins slightly with the buzz of alcohol. She feels warm in spite of being dressed in so little clothing.<p>

"I don't get men," she says suddenly, shaking her head as she lifts another shot of whiskey to her mouth. Tossing it back, she presses the back of her hand to her lips. "What's with the stupid pick-up lines? Do you really expect to..."

Dean tilts his head with a smirk. "Hey, Jo?"

Giggling, she pours herself another. "Yeah, Dean-O?"

"How much does a polar bear weigh?" he asks.

Her brow furrows and she sets the bottle on the coffee table. Scooting back on the couch, she curls her left leg under her and leans against the back cushion, her fingers slipping into the hair at her temple. "No, but I bet you can tell me."

He reaches for the bottle and pours himself another shot. He waits for a moment, gives her just enough time to take a sip of her whiskey, before delivering the punch-line. "Enough to break the ice!"

Jo nearly spews her drink in Dean's face. Recovering quickly, she takes a swing at him. The blow almost comes in contact with his jaw, but he's just quick enough to block it. She falls forward and his arms go around her.

"Whoa!" he chuckles. "Easy there, sweetheart!"

Jo rights herself, a soft laugh bubbling in her throat. It's reached her eyes by the time she looks at him. She licks her whiskey-flavored lips,her gaze dropping briefly to his mouth before fluttering back.

Dean's eyes search the swirling amber depths of hers. Suddenly, everything is quiet and serious. Through the open window behind the couch, a serenade of crickets fills the night. His hand grazes softly over her cheek, tucking an errant golden curl behind her ear.

He listens as her breathing quickens. Watches as her long lashes flutter against her cheeks. Sees the slight tremble of her pink lip. He can't help himself. Knows it's wrong. Knows he shouldn't.

But, God help him, he wants to. He has for years. Ever since she held a shotgun against his spine. She'd punched him in the nose and all he'd wanted to do was grab her and kiss her senseless.

So he does. His hand slipping around her neck, he drags her close. His lips crush over hers. His tongue presses against her mouth, swiping teasingly against the pillow of her lower lip.

Jo gasps, inching closer. Her heart pounds in her ears. Her fingers thread into his hair as she sucks at the tip of his tongue. When his fingers curl into her hip, she whimpers.

She tastes like liquor and heaven. He wants her closer. Wants to feel her as he feasts on her sweetness. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guides her into his lap.

As her knees come to rest against his hips, she nibbles at his lower lip. Her arms wind around his neck as his pull tighter around her. The denim of his jeans scrapes against her her inner thighs where her shorts ride up.

She draws back, her lips part as she pants lightly. Afraid to break the spell, she whispers. "What are we doing?"

Dean pushes her hair over her shoulders and tilts his head, his answer coming equally as soft as the tips of his fingers brush up her back. "Do you wanna stop?"

Jo bites her lower lip. When Dean's thumb comes to free it, she sighs and their tongues tangle together. She stops caring and just feels. Feels the burn of the alcohol on his lips. Feels the heat of his hands against her already burning skin.

He grips her thighs, his thumbs pushing higher as he devours her mouth. A moan escapes and he lifts her. His knee hits the sofa and he drops heavily over her with a tiny _oomph_ as he fights to keep his mouth on hers. Fights to stem the urge to strip her bare and bury himself within her.

Jo moans, arching as the heat of Dean's mouth races along her throat. Her hands dig into the cotton of the t-shirt that clings to the muscular contours of his shoulders. She wiggles, shifting as his fingers tease at the waistband of her shorts. A little overeager and fueled by the rush of liquor and lust, he bites her lip.

Her eyes burn into his and she gives him a crooked smile as she draws his t-shirt up. "Careful, Tiger," she teases. "Not so rough."

Dean snickers and reaches to pull his shirt off as he holds himself over her on his other arm. Coordination off, he slips as he becomes tangled in the sleeve. Trying to keep from falling, he clings to Jo his arms wrapping around her. When he falls onto the hardwood floor he takes her with him.

Their foreheads knock together. Dean cringes as Jo laughs. "Smooth, Winchester," she hums. "Real smooth..."

He ignores the pain in his head, overwhelmed by the warmth of her smile. His fingers combing into her hair, he tugs her mouth back to his for a searing kiss. "You okay, Harvelle?"

"Mmm," she sighs, teasing him with her tongue. "I'd be better if you'd shut up."

Rather than answer her barb, he grinds her hips against his need. He swallows her gasp, his tongue seeking hers as he sits up. Calloused hands hitch the bottom of her tank top up, greedily mapping the softness of her skin as he pulls it from her body.

Soft curves melt into hard planes as flesh meets flesh. There is a delicious contrast in the rosy glow of her skin and the sun-kissed copper of his, but it goes unnoticed in the heat of moments rushing between them with every touch. Every kiss.

"Maybe we should go upstairs?" he utters, his body aching for hers and his breathing uneven.

Jo shakes her head, her lips moving to his collarbone. "To what room, jackass? I'm sharing with my mom and you're bunking with Sam..."

He tangles his hand in her hair. She had a point. But here? On the floor? On a couch that was older than either of them? They were too drunk to drive anywhere. Hell, they were probably too drunk to walk very far. Not that being drunk has stopped him before.

His mouth slips over hers in a kiss that quickly spirals out of control. His hands trace heated pathways over the soft skin of her torso. Lifting her, he rolls her beneath him. He only just barely manages to get the throw pillow he grabbed from the couch on the way down under her head as she hits the floor.

Jo couldn't tell you how she ended up in this position. Well, that's not _entirely_ true. She _definitely_ knew how she ended up on the floor, half dressed with Dean Winchester hovering over her. She just couldn't tell you what possessed her to take that first drink. In her pajamas. In Bobby Singer's living room. With _him_.

She feels his hand snake between them. Feels him rub and tease at her before filling her - testing her - with his fingers. She gasps, trying to be quiet. Trying not to make a peep for fear of waking someone and getting caught.

Dean's lips coast up Jo's throat to her ear. He laps at its shell, a low growl escaping his throat at the way she moves hungrily under his touch. At how slick she is, how hot and ready. He feels his own body twitch. "Think you can be quiet?"

She whimpers, twisting to bring his mouth to hers. She sucks at his lower lip as her hands fumble with his belt. "Depends," she teases. "You gonna live up to your reputation?"

Dean smirks. He likes a challenge. And Jo just laid down the mother of all gauntlets. Right as she slipped her hand into his pants. His expression fades and for a split second, he can think of nothing but the feel of her elegant fingers curving around his length. If he's not careful, he's gonna embarrass himself. He groans, "Jo..."

She raises her eyebrow at the warning in his tone and slides her grip up and down. She feels herself getting closer and tries to shift beneath him so he hits that spot. The place that she knows will make her see stars. Squirming, she utters, "Dean..."

He peels her shorts and panties down, moving just in time to keep her knee from ending this before it really gets started. He only manages to get his own pants around his knees before she pulls him back to her mouth. Her tongue dances slickly against his and he rocks against her, hard flesh teasing against soft flesh.

Cursing, he pulls away, scrambling for the condom he keeps in his wallet. Trapped in his jeans, he has to move off of her - move away from her - to retrieve it. He panics, worrying he's about to short circuit, when he finally yanks it free and manages to get it on even as he watches Jo writhing on the floor.

He doesn't bother removing his pants. He's in too much of a hurry. The kind of hurry that would make you think he had a hellhound tracking his scent. But the only thing he smells is Jo - a thrilling combination of the citrus of her soap and her arousal. All he can hear is the thundering of his heart pounding in his ears and drowning out the soft panting of her breath as she reaches for him. All he can feel is...

White hot heat surrounding him as he looks down into her eyes. Too fast. He can see it in her face. He'd moved too quickly even though she seemed ready. _Dammit._

He eases back and hears her hiss as she bites her lip. He gulps and slides back half the distance. He kisses her temple and her cheek. He teases her, kissing the corner of her mouth before covering it completely with his own. He soothes her with gentle swirls of his tongue against hers as he strokes her hip, encouraging her to lift her leg around his waist.

Looking into her eyes, he husks, "It's okay. We'll go slow."

Jo nods, a blush creeping across her cheeks. You'd think it was her first time. But it wasn't. _Christ. This was embarrassing. But, hey _that_ rumor was _definitely_ true._

Dean rolls his hips against hers. He teases at first - light, shallow strokes. He watches her face, peppering her with matching kisses and making her hunt for his mouth. When he feels her fingers flex against his back, he moves deeper but not deep enough. He'll know what she's ready. Years of pleasing women have taught him the signs. The little signals to look for.

He falters and slows again. He sucks in a breath he hopes she doesn't notice. _Fuck. What are you thinking? This is Jo._ He feels like a teenager. Sex and alcohol were not a good mix. Not when you actually gave a damn.

He presses his forehead to hers and their noses brush as he eases down to give her a soul-searching kiss. He hopes she'll understand but knows he's probably doomed. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly. "Is _this_ okay?"

Jo moans in answer to the thrust he gives her. She clutches at his shoulders and shifts slightly on the floor. Her voice dark with desire, she pleads. "Please... Dean..."

He grips her thigh and pushes against her - into her - as tenderly as he can under the influence of whiskey and need. He kisses her throat, the hums of pleasure and pull of her body driving him. He wants - more than he's ever wanted - to make this count. To make her feel everything.

Jo gulps. "Dean..." she breathes. "Umm..."

"Hmm?" he asks, pulling back to look at her.

"Can we switch...umm..." With anyone else she wouldn't have asked. She would have just forced the issue and taken what she wanted but with Dean... "The floor is..."

He grins. It's a grin that would have gotten into her panties if he wasn't already. Any man who'd lie and say that he didn't prefer a woman to be on top of him didn't deserve to get laid. That Jo had asked was only slightly less hot than it would've been if she'd just pushed him on his back. And he wasn't complaining.

He rolls to his left - to the side that isn't wrapped by the muscular leg of the young, female hunter - and shifts her over him without missing a step. He admires the gentle sway of her perky breasts. Marvels at the way her head falls back, causing them to bounce in his face. If his coordination wasn't just a hair off, his mouth would have closed around her rosy nipple.

Jo rides him. She relishes being in control. Especially having control over Dean. He feels...incredible. From the way his rough hands grip her hips to the way he fills her completely. And the way he looks at her? Drunken haze or not, she feels like the most beautiful woman in the world.

When he sits up and leans close, brushing the hair that fell over her shoulder, she nearly comes undone. The tight way he holds her hips, pulling her down - pulling deeper - matches the grip of her body around his. "Ooh..." she cries softly, biting her lip as she worries about volume. "Christo..."

Dean chuckles, his mouth finding hers as his fingers tangle in her hair. "Good thing I'm not a demon..."

She clenches, her nails scraping lightly over the back of his neck. Now wasn't the time for jokes. Not with three other hunters in the house. Not with three people trained to be light sleepers in such close proximity. Breathless, she demands, "Kiss me..."

He teases her, his tongue slipping over her pulse point as she rocks against him. He feels the tension coiling in his belly. Knows he won't last much longer. Prays he'll last long enough.

"Dean," she whimpers. "Unless you want my mother and everyone else in the damn house hearing me scream your name..." She squirms. She can feel the damn breaking within her. She can feel herself being pulled toward release. "Kiss me. Now."

He does. Hot and hard. He swallows the moan that accompanies the tremor racking her body. He holds her, cradling her against his chest as she falls limply against him. But he doesn't let her cover his. He wants her to hear her name as he crumbles. Somehow - someway that defies probability and logic - he manages to keep it low, light enough only she can hear. "Jo..."

The look that crosses her face then - the one filled with serenity and bliss - tells him he's done the right thing. He won't fool himself into thinking that she's the only woman he'll ever be with. He doesn't believe in love or happy endings after all.

But he does know this: he knows that going forward, no matter who she is or where they fall together, the next one and the one after - hell, likely _every_ damn one - won't hold a candle to Joanna Beth Harvelle. And, when he closes his eyes, when he hides the person he is from her, it'll be Jo's face he sees. Hers that carries him over the cliff. And it'll be _her_ name he has to struggle not to call out...even when he's alone.


End file.
